Secrets
by Smiley756
Summary: I can't stand this temptation. AU. Liley.
1. Temptation

**A/N: **I originally wrote this for a contest entry, that didn't work out, so my original disclaimer doesn't fit here anymore.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hannah Montana or related characters.

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**Secrets**

**Chapter One: Temptation**

**...**

I am alone, it is dark, the covers shift around my feet, and I am jittery.

My stomach knows of what I want, yet it knows I shouldn't, but the dark fuels my fire. It keeps me aware as I stare out into the lack of light, my eyes wide.

No one is around, no one should be. I'm alone—once again I state that to myself. I'm filled with the desire to do something reckless, something crazy. Though I know it will make me feel better, it always does.

I rummage through the cabinet, and pull out the familiar blade, it gleams in the soft moonlight. The reflection runs across my eyes, I smirk, as I know it won't be gleaming for too long.

_Slice_

A drop of red burgundy falls to the plush carpet below. A flash of pain greets me with a smile, I'm obliged to keep its company.

_Slice_

A grin appears on my face—victory it seems has come my way, at last.

_Slice_

Okay, that's enough for today. Another day shall my arm suffer once again.

…

The snow crunches beneath my feet as I walk. My hands are in my pockets, my neck is slumped to the side, I walk with care. Each step, placed with the guide of my eyes.

I grow closer and closer to my dreaded destination—_school_. I do okay, I guess. Missing a few days wouldn't kill me, but who really likes school? Who really likes getting up at six in the morning to go learn all day?

I'm sure those very peppy girls over there do. They're casually doing their makeup and flirting with any member of the opposite sex they see. What a waste of life.

I twist the combination on my lock and slowly open the metal door, the rusty bolts screaming. I throw in my backpack and books. It's going to be a long day.

...

Ah, there's Mr. Frost. He leans his head up, I guess he thinks it shows authority; but all it shows is the flurry of nose hairs inside his nostrils. I wonder if he knows about his little nose problem—well I wouldn't call it little, I'd call it a _sticky_ situation. Hah, my jokes are terrible.

"Class, take your seats, take your seats," he orders, and we conform. "Today, we're going to be learning about the human body," he says with a grin on his face. Here we go...

…

"Lilly! Lilly, wait up!" My friend, Oliver, calls. I twist my head around to be greeted with an out of breath boy, and a box of donuts. I raise my eyebrow. "Hey, you want one?" He smiles.

"Uh, no, thanks." He obviously doesn't know what sugar does to me. He frowns.

"Are you sure? They're really good." He rubs his stomach in a circular motion. Odd.

"Yeah, I'm sure.

"Alright, well I'm having this party later, and I was wondering if you'd like to come?" Oh, a party. I'm not usually invited to those...

"I-I don't know..."

"Oh come on." He punches my arm. "It'll be fun."

"Maybe for you, but I'm not a fan of alcohol." Oliver frowns again.

"I never said there was going to be alcohol."

"It was implied." I shrug and glance around the hall, it's empty. "Look, I've gotta go. Don't expect to see me at your party tonight. Sorry, Oliver." He stands there speechless and I walk away.

…

Today is boring. Learning is boring. I want to go home. Maybe I will, when can I make my exit? Let's see...the English teacher is chillin' with a book, I think I'm clear.

I slowly back out of my chair, careful not to make it scrape on the ground. My table partner, Ashley, grabs my arm.

"What are you doing?" she whisper-yells.

"Leaving." I pry her hand off me. "Bye." I smirk and back out the door. Ah, freedom.

…

The afternoon sun shines on me, slightly warming up my cold, shivering body. I wish I brought my coat with me when I left the class, I'm kind of stupid for not taking it.

I can feel my cuts from last night healing—stinging. I pull up my sweater sleeve and examine the evidence. It's red, and it's gross. I don't even know why I cut, my life isn't so terrible, it's...okay. Cutting is addictive, that's what it is. It adds excitement to my dull, dull life. It allows me to feel something, when there really isn't much to feel at all.

I'm in a rut, it's wearing me down. I need something to fill this void I have. Even the most blissful things I do, don't really do me much. I just live for the sake of living.

It's getting old.

…

Take a deep breath, Lilly. Deep breaths. Take steps. Left foot, right foot. Don't forget to breathe, oh and blink, yeah.

I hate having to do this when I enter my house. Though I have to, I never know what I'm going to find when I enter. It varies from dead bodies, to drunken parents. I was kidding about the dead bodies part...

"Lilly! My buddy!" My brother, Jake, yells.

"Uh, hey." I give him a small hug. I look around, no beer bottles on the stained carpet...

"You're home awfully early, aren't you?" He scratches his head.

"Um, no," I lie. "There was..." I scramble. "Our teacher got sick, and they didn't have anyone to replace them, so they sent us home." Nice job.

"Oh," he states and takes a swig from his bottle. Ah, there's the alcohol.

"Where's Mom and Dad?"

"I dunno." He shrugs. "Probably out somewhere, doing something. You know how they are."

"I know exactly how they are..." I mumble and walk away.

…

Okay, I guess my life is a little worse than okay. My family has its problems, sure; but whose family doesn't? Well, Oliver's family doesn't, I'm jealous. He's like the superstar kid: he gets good grades, he's loved by his parents, and just all around obedient. I wish my family was like that, though it seems that they never will be. Ever since I was little, I've been avoiding all of it, but my brother wasn't so lucky.

At first, my parents tried to stop him, telling him it wasn't good. But he didn't listen, and then they gave up. He was sixteen then, I was ten, and that was six years ago. Six grueling years ago. Six years I've spent preparing myself so that I never end up like the rest of my family. It's been hard, but I'm doing okay.

That's the reason I'm not going to that party tonight, I don't want to be tempted. My family has a long list of alcoholic's, and I don't want to end up on that list. At all.

All things aside that, I am content, I am happy...I think?

…

_Throw_

_Squish_

_Throw_

_Squish_

_Catch_

I love throwing this rubber ball against the wall. It calms me, and helps me think—in some strange way. It distracts me too, and I need that. Especially for tonight. The temptation to go to that party is growing. Why do I even want to go? I know there's going to be alcohol, and that's a no-no.

I throw the ball absentmindedly against the wall, and it hits me in the face. _Ow_. I pick it up and examine it. Why do I depend on this little toy from when I was little? Why does it have so much significance? I don't even know...whatever, I'm getting rid of this thing.

I toss it in the trash, never to be seen again.

…

My feet scuttle along the tiles, I need to pace. I need to get my mind off of this party. _It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter_. Yet no matter how many times I repeat that, it doesn't work. I'm drawn to the action, I'm drawn to the danger.

I can't stand this temptation. I need to get out of this house, anyway.

I'm going.

…

"Lilly! You made it, ah, sweet!" Oliver pats my back.

I force out a laugh. "Well, you know me. Can't resist a party." Another laugh—forced.

He nods. "Well come in, grab a drink. We've got soda and stuff. Nothing alcoholic." He winks. I don't know how, but the entire town knows of my situation. Not in-depth, but they know that my family consists of alcoholics. It's bad.

There's a consistent hum of provocative music, and crazy dancing as I weave my way through my fellow teens. I make my way over to the drink table, and all I see is beer. Nothing alcoholic, right, Oliver.

"Hey, you want a drink?" Some guy slurs. I wince at his appearance, he's a mess.

"No, thanks. I-I don't drink."

"Aw, come on." He wraps his hand around me. "It tastes good."

"No," I say harshly and pry his arm off.

"Fine." He bats his arm at me. "Be like that." And then he leaves. I shiver, that was creepy. Though I'm doing well so far, I haven't drunken anything yet.

"You have pretty hair," someone says from behind me. I snap my head around to see another guy.

"Uh..." I don't know what to say.

"Yeah, it's all yellow, and nice." I tilt my head to the side. What's with people these days?

"And your eyes..." he drifts off. "They're blue, right?"

"Yeah, they are." I look around the room for an exit. "But I have to go. Uh, bye," I mumble and run into the first room I see.

I shut the door and sigh. I take a look around, I'm in a small closet. This isn't really taking my mind off of alcohol, it was a terrible idea. It's impossible to even think that I'll escape the temptation. It's not like I can erase my genes. It's not like I can become someone else.

I wish I could.

…

_Boom_

_Boom_

_Boom_

The bass of the music matches my head banging against the wall. This closet seems to get smaller and smaller every minute. I'm suffocating.

Sweat slides down my face, I take raspy breaths, and my heart is pounding. I need to get out of here, but I _can't_. I know if I do, I'll drink. But the room is spinning, and I don't know how much longer I can control myself, if I can control my fate.

What does it matter? What happens, happens. And there's nothing I can do about it. So what is the point? Why do I keep trying? Why do I persist? Why do I keep pushing myself to the brink?

Why don't I just go with the flow and do whatever? Do I want to end up like my parents and brother? That is the question, and I just don't know what to do.

...

I stare out into the dark, there are no shadows. There is no moon, only pitch black. I find my way over to the familiar blade. There is no reflection, there is no hope. Only the same problems.

_Slice_.


	2. I Lied

**A/N:** Thanks for reviews, they keep me going.

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

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Secrets

**Chapter Two: I Lied**

**...**

I run my hand along the lines

_Fresh_

_New_

These words come to mind.

I run my hand along the evidence.

_Dangerous._

_Scary._

These words come to mind.

Though I could care less.

…

"Lilly, what the hell happened last night?" Oliver asks as we walk along the stained snow.

"I-I don't know." I honestly don't.

"I mean, one minute you're fine, and then next, you're running out of the party like a psychopath!"

"Well, sorry! You just—you lied to me, Oliver."

A puzzled expression makes its way onto his face. "About what?"

"You said there wasn't any alcohol. There was." I shiver.

"There was?"

"Yes! Everywhere I looked, more and more of it!" I raise my voice.

"Okay, okay. Calm down. You know how everyone is. It's not a party unless there's drinking and stuff." He shrugs. I don't get Oliver sometimes, he knows about my family, but he...he just doesn't understand.

"Yes, but you lied to me," I huff.

"Well, what do you want me to say, Lilly?"

"I-I just don't know. It was so...scary, there. I barely made it out." I bite my lip. Oliver takes a long look at me, his eyes burying deep into my skin. I feel self conscious under his stare. He studies me, but I'm not an open book; you can't read me, Oliver.

"Lilly," he lowers his voice. "I know we're not all that close, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I know. I know," I say.

I lied.

…

"...And that's how you know if you're pregnant," Mr. Frost says. My God, does this class have a scope of subjects. I can't help but chuckle about it. One day, human body, the next, pregnancy. Ah, high school education.

I sit in the chair close to the desk. Or rather, I try to sleep, slightly on the desk. And most of the class express the same defeated looks on their faces. The looks of pure boredom and I know they're all thinking the same thing. Something along the lines of 'This. Is. Boring.' Or maybe something to do with weed.

It's probably the weed one.

"Any questions?" Mr. Frost asks, sighing.

A hand flies up, and I can feel time ticking _slower and slower_. Well, lookie' here, it's Marissa Williams. She's like Oliver, except you know, she's got girl parts, n'stuff.

"Yes, Marissa?" He points to her.

"Yes, Mr. Frost. So when..." By this word, I've blocked out her voice. It's squeaky, and it's annoying. Oliver's voice isn't annoying, it's actually a bit soothing.

Slightly.

"Well to answer your question, Marissa.." Whoops, I've blocked him out, too. You know, it seems like I'd fail this class, and every other class, too. I've practically replaced all the teachers' voices with something resembling a barking dog.

I could've chosen a better sound, truthfully.

A loud clanking illuminates the room, and I know it's the bell. Sweet, I can leave now. I grab my bag and start to walk towards the exit—not forgetting to push in my chair, I hate when people don't. Almost there, Lilly. So close!

"Lilly," Mr. Frost calls from his desk.

Damn.

I scuttle over to his desk, it's covered in papers. "Yeah?"

"I'd like to have a word with you." He pauses and glances around the room, it's empty. "...about your parents." I cringe—deeply. What right does he have to ask about my disgusting home life?

"Uh..." I shift awkwardly.

"Is everything all right with them?"

"Y-yeah? Why do you ask?" He so knows. How does everyone know? Seriously.

Mr. Frost says nothing, and just looks down at crumpled papers. "Just wondering. You know, I'm here if you want to talk." Why does everyone keep saying that?

I nod and pull up my sleeve, scratching the uncut skin. He glances down, and his eyes widen. His cheeks lightly tint red.

Oh shit.

He saw.

I practically throw my sleeve down. "W-well I'm just gonna go now, Mr. Frost," I mumble quickly and slightly jog out of the room.

"Wait!" I hear him call.

Tsk, I'll have to deal with him eventually.

And it's not going to be pretty.

…

I sit alone, a very empty metal table accompanies me—I guess. I lay my head low, and eat my crap sandwich. Eh, it's not that bad, though it could use a little more mayo. I flop the meat and bread onto the plastic bag, aka, ocean clogger.

I close my eyes and in vision somewhere sunny. It wouldn't be super cold like it is here in Oregon. Why does it have to get so damn cold? There's sun—sometimes, and hey, it's a clear sky today. How rare. I look up into the blue and marvel at how seemingly perfect it is. Okay, enough of that, and I stare back onto the cold bench.

A shadow obstructs the sun beating on me and my first instinct is to turn around to see who's blocking my source of warmth. It's a person. I scan up their body—it's a girl. This girl is skinny. My eyes make their way up to the girl's face.

This girl is pretty.

"Um. Could I..." she drifts off. Hmm...she's shy. "Could I sit here?"

I nod, wordlessly. And she carefully sits across the table. She's biting her lip, why?

"You look timid," I say flat out, and her face crinkles.

"I-I guess I am."

"You're new," I say once again.

"Y-yeah." This stuttering thing of hers needs to stop.

"What's your name?"

"M-Miley," she murmurs. I have the slight temptation to say 'what?' even though I hear her just fine.

"Nice. Well, I'm Lilly. And I would offer you my hand, but you're kind of across the table." I smirk. We're so opposites.

And yet one thing becomes apparent to me.

We'll get along just dandy.


	3. Drip

**A/N:** The more reviews, the more people look at the story.

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

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Secrets

**Chapter Three: Drip**

**...  
**

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

The shower faucet drips.

It falls on me.

Slides.

I soak up the cold.

Colder

Colder

Colder

It fills me to the brim.

And it spills.

Down the drain.

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

Down the drain._  
_

…

So it's been a week since I've talked to shy girl. After our little lunch encounter, she just mumbled a 'thank you' and walked away. Why did she say thank you? I'm nothing special to be thanked for. Really, I'm not. Even as I sit here, with another rubber ball I bought, throwing it against the wall, I know I'm definitely not worth it. I feel like I'm not worth the trouble, not even the words formed by her lips.

Nothing.

…

Why do the tears fall? Why does my heart have to break when I see my parents and brother? Why do they not have to care? Why do I keep hurting myself? Why? Why?

_Slice_

Serenity.

_Slice_

Shades of red.

_Slice_

Cry.

…

"Booze," Jake says. "I want more booze." And I give him a dirty look. "Lil," he slurs. "Can you get me some more booze? I like—I like really want some." He leans against the wall. "So, uh. Would ya...would ya get some for me?" I flinch as he steps close to me. "Lil, you're my buddy, right?" I don't nod. "Good." His head droops. "S-see ya later, sis." And he stumbles off out of my room. I shake my head. What happened to him? No, I know what happened to him, my parents happened. But what's the point about thinking about changing the unchangable?

There is no point. And yet it's always on my mind—the inevitable. Dear God, I need a distraction. What do I usually do? What's that thing I'm obsessed with...? No, not cutting. I did that already today. I don't want to drain all of my blood out. But that other thing...the thing I wish I could do. The thing that like half of the world listens to...Music! Wow. I'm slow.

I shuffle through my drawers and find my iPod. I grab it and collapse on my bed. I don't even turn the electronic on, I just stare at the celling. It's white, and it seems—lonely? Wait, no. That's ridiculous.

I need that distraction.

I press the power button and shuffle through until I find the song _Mayday People In Planes._ One of my favorites.

The sounds invade my ears.

_Getting nothing done  
I'm getting nothing done  
Failing all my friends  
And I'm failing everyone_

_I love your stranglehold  
I need your stranglehold  
Just squeeze until I go cold_

_Help me! Help me!  
You know me better than I knew myself  
Mayday! Mayday!  
Send angels, I'm a danger to myself_

_..._and it goes on.

I love this song, simply. They lyrics are so plain in truth that I can't help but relate myself to them. Couldn't someone just squeeze me until I go cold? Couldn't they just take me away from this—all of this? All of this crap, I don't need it. Someone save me, someone fucking help me! Send fucking angels or whatever you want. Just get me out of this hell-hole. Someone help me.

Save me.

…

_Beep!_

_Pause_

_Beep! _

_Pause_

_Beeeeeeeep!_

"-Shut the fuck up, Oliver! I'm coming!" I shout out the door. Of all the days it chooses to blizzard, today has to be the day. Thankfully, Oliver's letting me catch a ride with him—except he's not so nice about it. Which isn't even like him, either. He's usually this really sensitive guy, and if I didn't know it, I just might think he's gay. But, no. He's hit on me before. That's a road he _definitely_ doesn't want to go down again.

"-Lilly. If you don't get into this car in the next ten seconds, I'm leaving." He honks his horn. _Again_. I shut my eyes, closed. _Again_. I notice the flaws in my house as I walk out and the slight embarrassment I feel when I know that Oliver's seen them all. _Again_.

I walk out the door, ashamed.

_Again_

…

"The answer is the square root of five...but that kind of drags on forever," Shy girl Miley, says.

"Very good, Miley," Mr. Frost acknowledges.

"Yeah..." she mutters, and sinks low in her seat. So, she's in my...wait, this is science. Why are we doing math in science?

What?

"Okay, class," he starts, and grabs a stack of papers. "That's enough calculating for today. Do these worksheets for homework, they've got more practice problems on them." He offers a stack to a poor soul to pass around.

"Mr. Frost." I shoot my hand up. "Why do we have to do math in science?"

He leans his head up, almost smugly. It's like he doesn't know that his nose hair is just _right there_, staring at you. "Why do we question our teachers?"

_Touché_

I scrunch my nose. "Uh, you answered my question with another question."

"That's the point." He crosses his arms. "Figure it out, you're a smart girl, Lillian."

_Right..._

…

I think I need to crack my knuckles. This silence is too quiet, it's so quiet, that it's loud. Does that make sense? Does it have to? Oh whatever.

I think I'll crack them anyway.

(_insert knuckle crack noise)_

No, that didn't make it any less awkward. In fact, I think I just got a look of disgust from brown-haired math savvy Miley. My bad.

She's sitting with me again. We have our own little table at the end of the cafeteria. It's quite deserted, actually. Except for those kids smoking over there. But they don't really matter, much. Though Miley seems to be oddly uncomfortable around them. Well, I've never actually seen her comfortable. She's just so...tense all the time. I almost want to give her a massage—only to relieve her tension, of course.

"Th-thanks for letting me sit with you, again," she mutters quietly, her brown curls cloud me from seeing her face.

I raise my eyebrow. "I don't get it. Why do you keep thanking me?"

She seems taken back. "W-well, I don't know."

_Sigh_

"Well, I'm just a person. I don't see why you need to thank me." I lean back in my seat, casually.

"Okay, I won't thank you anymore," she mumbles. Well, now I feel bad. She's like a sad little puppy. I've always wanted a puppy, but for some reason, I think it would die in my house. It would drink some wretched alcohol and boom, dead. I wonder if Miley has any animals?

"Uh..." I grind my teeth. "Where are you from?"

Miley looks up, a little confused. "T-Tennessee."

"Wow, that's a long move. Why would you want to move to this boring ol' Oregon town?"

"It's uh, complicated..."

Complicated, eh? Well, her personal life is her personal life. It's not like I'm just jumping on tables shouting that my family consists of alcoholic's...

"What's there to do around here, you know, for fun?" she asks, biting her lip at the end. Fun? There is no 'fun' here. The only thing is parties, and well, I'm not such a fan of those, considering my almost mental breakdown last week. It never occured to me, but that party was on school night. That's unusual...

"There is no fun," I say flat out. "It's work, and then it snows. If you like snow, then, good for you. But I don't, it's like wearing weights around your shoes. It's always slowing you down." I shiver.

"Oh." She blinks.

"Yeah..."

"That's too bad."

I scoff. "Tell me about it."

...

The door slams, and I hear feet scuffing along the floorboards. Slurred speech is muttered, and bottles are clanking. I cover my ears, blocking out the sounds. The sound of clanking bottles, it's like a call time. It's like a due date, or a signal to go to war.

There will be gunfire.

And eventually

_Death_

_..._

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

...Nothing...

Okay, maybe I'll count backwards.

_Three_

_Two_

_One_

...Nothing...

I'm waiting for the sound of someone throwing up.

It's only a matter of time.

After all, it's my house.

There's three drunken people, it's amazing the bills get paid. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the power went out at some point. Do my parents even _go_ to work? I haven't seen them. Maybe we're living on our savings...?

The next time one of them is sober, I'll be sure to ask them. But who knows when that will be?

Because all they do is drink.

And it drips.

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

It drips down their throat.

And the tears. They

_Drip_

_Drip_

_Drip_

Down my face.

It's only a matter of time before I run out.


	4. It's Complicated

**A/N: **Really... review. I know it's angst, but _please_.

**Disclaimer:** See chapter one.

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Secrets

**Chapter Four: It's Complicated**

**...**

Weeks and weeks.

They pass like _that_.

And you know what's weird?

You hardly even notice.

…

Okay, Miley and I haven't made any progress. We just talk about the same things, over and over again. You know what was said yesterday? Something along the lines of 'I hate greasy pizza'. Yeah, real meaningful, I know.

But really, Miley just won't open up. I've broached several personal topics with her. You know, the occasional 'how are you?' And I've even tried to ask her to hang out sometime, not at my house, of course. _Hell _no.

Seriously, though. Any attempt I make is met with "It's complicated." I don't get how going to the park is so damn complicated. Though I do know what's complicated: why I'm still sitting with her. I mean it's not like I have anywhere else to go. Well, maybe with Oliver, but that itself is very complicated. And anyway, the next time I hear "it's complicated" from anyone, I think I'm going to shoot myself.

Just kidding.

…

I shuffle my feet in the snow—on purpose, of course. I'd like to delay my getting-to-school-ness. After all, I've got stupid Mr. Frost waiting for me there, and that makes my stomach churn. What if he talks about my parents again? Or what it, even worse, he makes me do more _math_?

I love being sarcastic, I really do.

But back to Frost.

He shouldn't stick his furry nose into my business, even if he feel it's his "responsibility". Because it's not. And even if he did try to bury his way into my web of emotions, he'd quickly find himself drowning. I go from a sarcastic beast, to a big sack of depression in a matter of minutes. And that, in turn, is too much for anyone to handle but myself. My life is my burden, and my burden alone. After all, stress is better than pain, right?

I'm starting to think otherwise.

...

"Lilly! Outta the way!" Oliver shouts and I feel like ducking-but I don't.

"What?" I ask as I turn around.

"Nevermind," he says. I roll my eyes. "Okay, so I was wondering if you could maybe pick up some donuts for me after school? I'm having another party and I know how much everyone loves those." He licks his lips.

Dear _God_, what drugs are this boy on?

"I'll see if I can get to it," I say as I clear my throat.

"Alright. You're invited, of course. And I promise, this time no drinks, for sure." He winks.

_Sigh_

_Here we go_

"Look, Oliver," I say. "As long as we live where we do, there is no such thing as 'no drinks'. I don't know about other states or countries, but this one sure ain't consisted of angels."

"Ain't?"

"Ugh, whatever. It felt right to say. Anyway I'm not going to your stupid party, so you should just _stop_ inviting me, okay?"

"Okay, jeez. I just want you to get out," he mumbles.

"Why would you say that?"

"Why wouldn't I say that, Lilly? Your situation is hella obvious." Ugh, he said hella. It's a word he picked up from his recent trip to California. Apparently it's really popular there, though I don't see why. I guess California is filled with illiterate snobs.

I push back the desire to punch the boy and take a moment to regain my composure after hearing that terrible word. "Oliver, listen." I take a step closer to him, get in his face. "I'll say it plain and simple, you don't know shit. No one knows shit. Everybody thinks they do, but they don't know anything."

"Fine," he spits at me, and turns around. "Have fun by yourself." He walks away and throws his hands up in the air. "Whatever!"

Exactly

Whatever.

…

I never went to the party, but honestly, who was even expecting me to? Hell, who would even want me there? Well, all those kids who wanted their donuts. But I think they'll live. I think they'll be okay without more fat to add to their stomachs. It's not like we need another obese child in America, we really don't.

"Lillllly, we're home!" Speaking of obese children...

I don't respond. Why should I?

"Lilllly!" Mom shouts. I hear the soft crinkle of a plastic bag being set down on the table.

"What?" I shout, annoyed.

I hear her walk over, the steps are loud, and in their own way—obnoxious.

"Here," she says, holding a small cardboard take-out box.

"What's that?"

"Your dinner." She throws the small box at me, it lands with a dim plop on my bed.

I take a moment to open the box, and examine it. "This is empty," I say.

She chuckles—drunk. "Oops," she giggles.

"Well what am I supposed to have for dinner?"

"I don't know," she slurs. I roll my eyes.

Dad calls her from inside, he's drunk too. Hell, when are they_ not_?

"G-gotta go," Mom laughs and stumbles out of the room. Great, just great. I've got no dinner. I guess I'll just scramble up some macaroni...

…

I used to be more affected by it, I guess. My parents' and brother's drinking problem. I mean what am I supposed to do? Cry every time they come home drunk? Sob every time they forget my birthday? Get angry when they pull stunts like my Mom just did? It's useless. I mean it's not like it doesn't hurt me, because it does, holy crap it does. It's not like I don't cry and cut, because anyone who got to know me could tell. Except Oliver, but he's quite the lost cause, especially after our little 'fight' today. But I drifted off topic. So, back on topic.

I've trained myself, I really have. I take everything they do, and I just bottle it up, which I know isn't good, but who cares. I'll cut to keep myself in-check. I'll cut to take some steam off.

But eventually, it'll stop working. And what's next? What's my next move? Will I stumble into the same fate as my brother, doomed to a terrible life? Or will I prevail, and overcome these damn challenges?

Something tells me I won't.

Something tells me

I'll explode.

…

So I smell burning rubber—and nothing else. Wait, just kidding. I smell drugs, too, but that's a given. And it feels like it's going to rain. I think I hear thunder, also, but no. A really raggedy car drives up, and the sounds mimic the rumble of thunder. I cringe at the sight—the car almost reminds me of a crumpled up ball. The way that it looks, how it seems uncared for and like it was tossed in a trash can, even though that's quite impossible.

I shed away the thoughts as I walk inside the school. Or I guess you could say I'm shuffling, again. In fact, I managed to shuffle myself into a wall. Great.

"Damn..." I murmur as I pick up my fallen books. As I stand up, I take one last look at the morbid car. I see a figure come out, and ah, it's Miley. I have to squint, but even out of distance between us, I can tell she's jittery. But not just jittery, really. She seems even more...out of it, than usual. She leans up against the car after she shut the door. I raise my eyebrow at the girl. Something just isn't right about her...

…

"...And that's how bacteria forms—on your feet," Mr. Frost says, smiling that his lecture had come to a disgusting end. His lectures are always something...special. And not just the topics, either. Just the way he puts them together, and the subjects he likes to end on when he's done. Something about him made me decide I _never_ wanted to become a teacher.

As the class counted down the seconds until the bell, I planned my escape—as I do everyday. I don't want to talk to him. Him being Mr. Frost. He'll question me, I know he will. And questions lead to answers. Answers I don't want to hand out.

"Lillian? Could you please stay after class?"

Holy fucking _fuck_.

Pardon my French.

Even though the class is completely quiet—Mr. Frost won't settle for anything less—my head is loud. I'm cursing his name in every single language I know. I, unfortunately, only know English. So...there.

"Lillian?"

"What?" I bark and snap my head up from its position in the palms of my hands.

I see Mr. Frost, looking offended.

Oops.

"Lillian, I will _not_ tolerate that kind of tone in my classroom. You're lucky that class is over," he says.

Wait, class is over...? I scan the room and find that—indeed, class is over.

"...Er..."

"Lillian." He motions toward his desk. "Come here." I walk over, my face just a little red. Just a little. "So..." he starts, and lifts his nose. I think I see a colony living up there...

"So..." I mimic.

"Look," he sighs. "I'm concerned about you."

"Wh-why?" I step back.

"Because. I know what it's like to have..." he awkwardly coughs, "problems."

"Mr. Frost, I don't know where you're getting this from, I don't have any so-called problems." I put on a fake smile.

"Lillian..."

"Look, I've gotta go to lunch," I screech, my voice slightly high. "I'll see you later."

…

Miley isn't here. Or, she's not sitting with me. In some way, I'm a little glum. I _do_ enjoy her company. Maybe she found some real friends. Y'know, friends who aren't...crazy cutters.

And on the subject of cutting, it's making my arm hurt. Wow, that sounded _really_ dumb, right? Yeah. But really, it is. My arm is throbbing _constantly_ lately.

I tug at my sweater sleeve, pulling it up slightly, to reveal my damaged wrist. Again, it's red, and it's gross. But it's worth it. This—I ran my fingers over the lines—is worth it. Th-

"Hey Lilly!" Miley shouts, and it startles me. What happened to shy girl?

Ex-shy girl sits down next to me, and something seems off. It's not just because she got a sudden boost of confidence, no. Something weird is coming off her. It seems _so_ familiar. It's this scent. It's almost _radiating_ off of her.

And it's something I know _far_ too well

Alcohol.

I cover my mouth and nose with my hand. I feel nauseous. I'm gonna throw up. I- "I gotta go," I manage and stumble out of the area.

I find my way to a trash can around the corner and hold my head over it. I take heavy breaths. Why is this happening? And why am I almost throwing up because of it? It's nothing new—this scent. It's the usual, everything's the usual.

I heave and I ho, and finally something comes out. I cough and sniff and take a look. It's my...lunch in that trashcan, which is definitely not where it should be right now.

Great. Second time without food.

Great.


	5. Interrupted

**A/N: **Sorry for my disappearance. I couldn't get anything written. And the only reason I'm actually updating is because my friend GlisteningShadow is losing her internet for a few weeks, and I figured this might be a nice going away gift or something like that.

**Disclaimer: **See chapter one.

* * *

**Secrets**

**Chapter Five: Interrupted**

**...**

I awaken from the sound of the doorbell. I groan and roll over, covering my head with my pillow. I'm a teen—sleep is what I do. At least while I sleep I don't c—

_Ring_

No.

_Ring_

Oh damn.

I throw off the covers and slide out of bed, shivering at the cold. I take a quick glance at the clock and it reads 10:30 am, Saturday. Jake had come home in the middle of the night, drunk, and slammed things around for a while. It had woken me up and I had a hard time getting back to sleep. So my eyes are heavy and un-rested. Thanks, Jake.

The doorbell rings again and I sigh and travel down the stairs. I throw on the deepest frown I can manage and drag the door open. What I see I don't expect.

It's Mr. Frost.

"Hello, Lillian," he says.

Oh my G—

"So I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I might pay you a visit."

What the f—

"Oh," I squeak. _How the hell does he know my address?_

"Can I come in?" he asks. I wince.

"Sure," I say, regretfully, and with slight pain in my voice. I open the door for him to enter, and as he passes I notice he smells like cigarettes, coffee and burnt toast.

_How nice._

I crinkle my nose and close the door, shuffling behind him.

Mr. Frost manages to find a seat on the couch, but I still stand there—I don't know what else to do.

This is awkward.

"So," he breathes and crosses his legs. "How are you doing, Lilly?" I can tell he's forcing his gaze on me, and not on the mess around him.

"I'm fine."

"That's good."

"It is."

I cough.

"Well," he grunts. "I might as well tell you the real reason I came here, Lilly." He puts his hands over his right knee and I can tell he's serious. A shock goes through my system as I mentally prepare myself for the questions ahead.

_Don't tell him anything._

"Okay." I realize my attire—sweats—don't fit me very well. I pull the sleeve down. They're short.

I can't risk—

"I came here because I was worried about you."

"Oh," I say, though it's no surprise to me that he's worried. He's been mentioning it everyday for the last month or so.

"Yes," he says and scratches his nose, some stuff falls off as he does.

Ew, that's so gr—

"And," he continues. "There's something else." He lowers his gaze on my wrist.

_Shit._

He starts to talk, but I interrupt. "Mr Frost, I don't think my parents would approve of you being here with me... alone." I spit out the first lie that comes into my head, I can't risk him knowing. I just can't. Cutting is my thing and it helps me cope with the harsh realities of my life. I don't think I could handle everything if I didn't have it.

So I lie.

"Well." He clears his throat. "Could I talk to them?"

"Uh..." Are they even home? "They're asleep." Another lie.

"Then I'll wait until they're awake."

"I think you should just... go." I feel uneasy.

"Lilly, I'm concern—"

"Okay, you're concerned!" I shout. "But that _doesn't_ mean that you can just come to my house over the weekend!"

I shouted at him, at Mr. Frost, at my _teacher__**.**_

"I just—"

"_I_ just want you to _leave_."

"Very well." He stands up, the floor crackles beneath him as he does.

He walks towards the door, and I open it for him. "Thank you for your concern," I mutter.

"You're welcome." Mr. Frost steps outside into the cold. I start to close the door behind him, but he stops it with his hand. "Lilly, wait." He gives me a piece of paper. "Give me a call if you ever need... help." He smiles at the end and I feel slightly disturbed at the context of it all.

"...Okay."

He leaves.

…

I slide the razor against my wrist as the memories fall before my eyes and the blood to the floor.

_Yes._

I remember Oliver and my relief fades away. He was... my only friend. Maybe Miley too. But she's tricky... and pretty. Yeah, she's pretty, too. Miley's pretty.

But Oliver...

Well he's not _pretty_, but more... impatient. Why is that? Why couldn't he just... leave me alone? He doesn't understand me, or my family. Oliver's always been that way. His heart's in the right place, I suppose. Maybe I should—no.

I shouldn't.

…

"Lilly! Lilly, wait!" Miley's voice rings from behind, and she sounds particularly boisterous today. Unusual, usually. But then again... there was Friday...

"Lilly," she breathes as she catches up to me.

"Uh..." I manage.

My first instinct is to run away, but I don't trust my instincts, so I stay.

"Look," she says. "I'm sorry about the other day... I acted... strangely."

"Yeah." I avoid eye contact and kick at the snow beneath my feet.

"But... why'd you run off like that?"

I pause as I remember the events that had taken place a few days ago, on Friday. I had run to a trashcan and thrown up because Miley smelled like... like alcohol. Like scotch.

"B-because." I race through my head for an answer. "Because I did. And it's... it's none of your business why."

"L—"

"It's _none_ of your _business_, Miley."

"Oh," she mutters, her curly brunette hair cascading down over her face. She looks hurt.

"...Yeah."

An awkward, yet sad silence makes an appearance. Miley stares at her feet. I stare at anything but Miley.

I cough, as I usually do, and start talking again. "I've got to get home."

"Okay," Miley says in a whisper. I feel a stab hit my stomach from the sadness in her voice.

"Alright, I'll just go..?"

She nods. "B-bye." Miley offers me a faulty smile and a quick wave and turns around and walks away in a slow, fluid motion, with her head slumped and her hands in her pockets.

She looks like _me._

…

The sun shines in my eyes and I almost drop my lunch. I stumble for a while, and then find my footing. And when I look up I see that Miley's sitting alone. By herself. I suddenly feel very guilty, and my stomach sinks. She's sitting all by herself, looking all lonely and sad. On a Monday afternoon, no less. Our little confrontation was yesterday. The event plays in front of my eyes again and I mentally slap myself for how cold I was to her. She looks like she'd cry at any moment (though that's how she usually looks, anyway...) and she's looking down at her hands while chewing on her bottom lip. It's strangely cute, and I almost don't want to interrupt her to apologize, but I know I must.

So I do.

"Hey," I say as I sit down. I push her lunch tray aside, and set mine down somewhere, I don't really know where it ended up, but I don't care.

Miley lifts her head up and looks at me, her eyes go wide. I notice that she's shivering from the cold, and I almost wrap my arm around her shoulder to keep her warm. But I hold myself back.

_How weird would that be?_

"...Hi," she mutters and looks back down again.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything wrong..." she mumbles and plays with a string on her jacket.

"I'm sorry for being a jerk."

"I deserve it."

I frown and look at her. She's biting her lip again.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"I just... do. You saw something that you weren't supposed to. That no one was supposed to. It was my fault, so I deserve the punishment."

"Punishment?"

"You running away from me, and not telling me anything."

"And how is that a punishment?" I ask, but more to myself then her.

"It just is..."

I raise my eyebrow at her, only to realize that she's hiding something. Like me.

"Miley..."

She doesn't say anything and plays with her hands again. I click my tongue to keep it from being silent and the awkwardness is so solid you could cut it with a knife.

Miley scratches at the plastic on the table with her nail and she looks at me and opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Confusion is etched on my face and I raise my eyebrow once again. She blushes and looks down again. She's so cute, I could just—wait. No, no. Lilly, what are you talking about? What are you.. thinking? You don't... you don't. Animals are cute, babies are cute. Miley's not cute, she's just pretty. It's normal to think she's pretty, right? Of course it—

"Do you..." she starts, and my thoughts rush out of my head, I'm hanging onto her words.

"Do I...what?"

"Do you want to come over... today? To my house."

A smile breaks out on my face and I say the obvious answer.

"Yes."

* * *

**A/N:** I don't know about this. Please review and reassure me?


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